Lord Oaken stood there, his silver hair loose about his shoulders, his amethyst eyes bright with urgency.
“I have seen it,” he said, his voice tight. “The vision was clear. They are close.”
Dar straightened at once. “What did you see?”
“Men have entered Driochmor. They move with purpose. They are headed here.”
“Hunters?” Dar hoped but sensed differently.
“Nay.” Lord Oaken shook his head. “Worse. One among them is a powerful warlock. His presence bends the forest. He means great harm.”
His gaze flicked to Elara, then back to Dar.
“They mean my granddaughter and you harm. Though I do not yet know why, I believe you do.”
Dar did not deny it. “She was meant to die and their mission failed and now that I try to save her, I must die as well.”
“You must go. Take Elara. Go deep into the forest, beyond paths, beyond tracking. Go where the forest can protect you. Go now before it’s too late.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Driochmor Forest
The Escape
* * *
Dar did not wait for dawn to fully break.
He was already mounted when the first pale light filtered through the canopy, Elara cradled against his chest, wrapped tight in his cloak. Her head rested beneath his chin, her body unnaturally still, her breath shallow but there. Always there. He held to that truth as fiercely as the reins in his hands.
“Faster,” Amelia urged, darting ahead of them, her blue glow flickering sharp and anxious. “They are close.”
Dar leaned forward and his horse responded at once, surging into motion without needing spur or command. Branches lashed past. Roots threatened to tear at hooves. The forest thickened, not randomly, but deliberately, paths narrowing, shadows deepening, the air heavy with moss and damp earth.
This was no road.
This was escape.
Dar felt it then, the forest watching him. Not with suspicion, but with intent.
Leaves shifted where no wind stirred. Birds burst from branches in sudden flight, wheeling low and wide. Small shapes, fox, hare, squirrel, scattered across the ground behind him, their movements chaotic enough to destroy any clear trail.
Good, Dar thought grimly. Hide us.
Amelia flashed back to his shoulder, her tiny face drawn tight. “They bring iron and fire,” she said. “One speaks words that twist the air. He hunts by scent and spell both.”
Dar drew in the air around him, catching the scent of sweat and a hint of fear, stronger than he ever had. What followed was a stench so strong it stung his nostrils so badly it almost robbed him of smell. He knew, there and then, it was pure evil.
His horse veered suddenly—not at his command—and Dar let it. The animal knew this land now better than he did. The path dissolved entirely, swallowed by fern and fallen timber, and still the horse ran, sure-footed, unhesitating, as though guided by something older than training.
Dar kept both arms locked around Elara, one hand never leaving her back, his body shielding hers from every jolt. He did not reach for his weapons. He did not think of them.
All that mattered was putting distance between her and whatever followed.
A sound echoed behind them, too distant to name, too wrong to ignore.
Amelia hissed softly. “Do not slow. Do not look back.”